


Blood from a Stone

by alizarin_nyc



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Trainspotting (1996)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-12
Updated: 2006-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alizarin_nyc/pseuds/alizarin_nyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was kinky, my new girl, I didn’t mind. She liked to bite and bite hard. What did it matter, I was always flying high and fuck me if it mattered at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood from a Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Never seen "Trainspotting? Junkies. Scotland. Mates. Hilarity. Sex. Junkies. Thievery. Hijinks. AIDS. Death. Violence. Mates. London. Betrayal. Life. The End.

I was riding my heroin high and she was riding me. She was beautiful and she looked like a goddess and what the fuck, she wanted to suck on my neck, who am I to say no; before I knew if it was right or wrong, I was right down the rabbit hole of her dark, liquid eyes.

There were all kinds of good things down there.

She was kinky, my new girl, I didn’t mind. She liked to bite and bite hard. What did it matter, I was always flying high and fuck me if it mattered at all.

The other day she brought a bloke around. Tommy and I had a good laugh at him, he was all peroxide blonde hair and the like, chains everywhere, eyeliner and black leather like a fucking poufter. Sick Boy was taken with him or something; anyway, they talked all night like they were best mates. I just laid in the corner and let my pretty dark haired girl suck me off and suck me down, blood and semen and all.

Her pretty thin hands stroked my head after. She was the absolute best at getting my skag ready for me. It was better than I’d ever had, that’s for sure. I was like a babe at my mother’s teat. But she was the one sucking and sucking.

It was all goin’ _so_ well.

Trust fuckin’ Begbie to ruin it all.

*#*

Someone had pished in the sink and that wasn’t cool at all, but I didn’t give a fuck. We were round about Swanney’s and so that was the usual fusty shite.

I came out after, and maybe it was a two minute pish, maybe I’d been in there for hours, I didn’t know, but Sick Boy was laid out like fucking Christ himself. That Spike character was the only one awake and he was sitting near the window, eyes like a predator, smoking and letting the white wisps float away on the stench of the apartment and out the window.

“What the fuck you looking at?” I asked him.

“You lot,” he said, waving his hand around.

“Well fuck off you fucking wanker,” I said. Stupid fuck, this was our spot, Swanney’s was, and if he wasn’t going to shoot up, he should just get out. I settled back down next to Dru, and she snuggled up next to me, her dark eyes opening.

“You’ve had quite a bit tonight my lady,” I said to her.

“Not nearly enough, Rents,” she said, and then she did this funny thing. She looked straight up and at that fellow Spike, like she _wanted_ him to see her, and then she pulled my arm over to her mouth and placed her lips right over the hole. I felt a twinge as she bit down and let her tongue flick over the veins. But she was still looking at him. I felt my head spin and everything went dark there for a bit, but I could see him looking at her too.

And if it wasn’t for the goddamn lovely shite we’d had that night, I might have cared enough to shoot that fucker right between the eyes.

Right, so anyway, there we were, like that, in Swanney’s flat – flat out -- for days, I’m telling you, it was beautiful. Sick Boy and I talked about giving it up for good but we were still at that point where we were having one for the road. You know how it is. Plus, if you’re going to give it up, you’ve got to get serious. It’s hard getting serious, and there’s lots of time to get serious, so there we were, getting serious.

So one night I’m with Dru and I said to her that one of these days we ought to get a bed like, maybe even a real flat and move in together and then we could kick the habit and set up nice. She laughed, like she does, and runs her hand over my fuzzy head and pulls my ciggy out of my mouth and smokes it down in one long drag.

She’s kinky, I told you that.

So I said, “don’t laugh, I’m getting serious, you know that.”

“Serious,” she repeated. “Leave serious to the mums and daddies of the world. For us it’s just play; lots and lots of play and lots and lots of playtime. Endless time, endless play.” Her voice was mesmerizing and almost put me to sleep.

She bent her head over my cock then, unzipped my fly, and I thought, _yeah, lots of time for play and it is endless – she’s so bloody right_ , and then I’m coming, I’m always coming when she’s like this, she’s so good. It’s amazing really, since heroin wrecks havoc with your libido.

Then she got her reward, which was to nip at my balls and suck on the little bite mark she loves down on my left thigh. _Fuck yeah._

But I’m not so far gone as to notice what’s going on down the hallway. Swanney’s got this really fucked up flat and it has this crooked hallway – or at least I think it’s crooked – and the light is on in the bathroom and there’s two people there in the dark who are making out like a couple of randy teenagers. I must be having one of those hallucinations because I see Sick Boy’s stupid fluffy blonde head with the hair all mussed around his skull but then I think I see him with someone who also has soft blonde curls and for a minute I think that Sick Boy is fucking _making out with himself._

And I try to scream but no sound comes out because Dru’s mouth is down between my legs and she’s pulling my fucking soul out from down there.

Sick Boy is humping that punter Spike and they’re going at each other like feral cats in heat.

Fuck me. Sick Boy is a queer.

And now that cunt Spike has got Sick Boy’s breeks off and I can’t look anymore. But I can and I do. But I don’t do anything because, well, it feels like Dru is draining me dry of everything and besides, live and let live, right?

Their mouths are devouring each other and Spike has a handful of Sick Boy’s skinny arse. I thought that Spike was rather on the pale side, and thin, just like your average junkie, but I can see now, he’s strong, sinewy, and Sick Boy is caving under him. Spike’s got him propped up against the wall and he’s taking it in.

Then, it looks to me like Spike is lifting him up against wall, like Sick Boy’s head is near to the ceiling. And he’s swallowing Sick Boy’s cock down like it’s a fine wine and he’s a fucking Frenchman.

Dru’s purring now between my legs. I fancy she’s got whiskers and the blood on her lower lip is just cream.

Spike is banging Sick Boy’s fucking head against the ceiling and Sick Boy’s in a real ecstasy from where I’m sitting. They’d look pretty if the whole thing wasn’t horribly queer and all. Spike’s head in Sick Boy’s groin, his shoulders rolling predatory and his feet spread apart for balance with Sick Boy like a victory cup that he’s drinking from.

And that’s when I must have blacked out.

*#*

Havin’ a pint down the pub, nothing special was what it was _that_ night, the night in question.

Begbie was on and on about the usual shite. He mucked up a fellow at the betting shop just before his horse won and left him several thousand quid, so he tells it. What can you do? Begbie’s a mate and no one’s going to challenge him on his stories, not even the ones who know what really happened.

Drusilla came in the door and Begbie leered at her. Wasn’t for me to say anything, she could take care of herself. Tommy, Spud and Sick Boy moved over to make room for her at the table. She sat down primly and waved her long, dark lashes at me so I bought her a pint and another round for the rest.

But Begbie wouldn’t lay off, putting his hands up Dru’s skirt and looking at me, because he knows I won’t say a god damn word.

Then Spike walks in and Sick Boy goes all soft around the eyes. Stupid cunt has it bad for a bloke, I can’t believe it, Tommy can’t believe it, Spud is confused by it and there’s nobody going to tell Begbie, no fucking way.

But Begbie can see for himself.

Spike sidles up, he’s drinking some hard shite in a highball glass. Begbie leaves off petting Drusilla and now he’s looking at Spike in his leather and eyeliner and I can smell the stench of trouble.

But what can you do? Beggar’s a mate. Rocking horse shite, is Beggars.

Spike’s not breaking Begbie’s stare and it’s getting uncomfortable. I can see Begbie’s already rubbered and it’s not going to go down well. Begbie reaches across and strokes Sick Boy’s face and Sick Boy pulls away like he’s been burned. Spike makes a move, quick-like and his drink storms around in his glass, which Begbie sees.

“Don’t want me touching your fair lady, that it?” Begbie sneers. “Don’t want me fingering ye wifey, ye cunt?” He turns to Sick Boy. “Cause yoove got _pussy galore,_ am I right?

I don’t know how Begbie found out. Spud looked right guilty though.

“You sound like a feckin’ seagull skrechin’ on a wire,” Spike says, rolling it out in a bored voice. I think I see his eyes travel round the back of his head. He’s getting himself right in it.

“I love seagulls,” Dru says. “Kew-roo, kew-rooooo!” She looks positively entranced by the two. I want to curl my hand around her knee but I don’t. I can’t say why exactly.

“Oh,” Begbie says, his head cocking to one side. “Right then, yer erse is oot the windae, you cunt!”

And he goes absolutely fucking radge. He lunges at Spike with his pint glass and it glances on that blonde head and breaks into a million. I see a blur of blonde hair and blood and I think that this laddie’s really done for. He’s not going to be hanging around much longer and maybe I’ll have Dru’s full attention for a change.

Dru claps her hands like a wee child. It’s not the reaction I was hoping for.

Spike turns round on Begbie who’s advancing like a footballer on the ultimate goal. I think I see Spike’s eyes, and they look yellow. I must be hallucinating.

Begbie grapples with him and they fall to the ground and roll over and over. We’ve got to look like we’re backing Begbie, but we’d rather keep drinking. People are shouting, me and Tommy and Spud are scrambling for the back but it’s blocked, so we’ve no choice but to head for the door.

Now we’re all out in the street, Sick Boy looks ghostly white against the pavement; someone’s gubbed him in the face and he’s down and nearly out, Spud is running like the wind and Tommy is laughing, leaning against the wall, like he’ll burst.

Begbie and Spike are really going at it. They’re circling each other, Begbie is shouting curses and that Spike punter -- he still doesn’t say much. Drusilla’s eyes are all lit up and she’s near them, too close, but not drawn into the brawl.

I guess I’m a bit rubbered, too, because I can barely see what’s happening and it’s all happening so bloody fast.

“Foos yer doos, yew fusty dug?” Begbie shouts, tight and taut and ready to finish this guy for good and all.

Spike says not a word, but looks to Drusilla -- _my Drusilla_ \-- for the nod and she gives it.

And that’s when I learn she’s not _my_ Drusilla at all.

Spike’s head tilts back and it suddenly looks like he’s twice his height. He’s got _fangs_ , I’m not joking. Begbie’s body is whipped around in the dark outside the pub and Dru and Spike have got him between them, twisting and flailing and they’ve pushed him into the dark of an alcove.

Only Dru looks up, looks at me as she does what she does. I see Begbie’s head twist, and then I realize, he’s not looking at me, _fuck all_ , his neck’s been broken and his head’s hanging round his body like a scarf. Spike’s porcelain face is covered with blood and I can see how bloody strong he is, and I want to warn Drusilla away from him, but part of me knows she doesn’t need warning. It’s me needs warning. It’s us needs warning.

Her pretty face is twisted, too, she’s got yellow eyes in the light of the night streets and her hair seems to be growing down her arms and legs but it’s actually Begbie’s blood.

And then suddenly I realize what it’s all about.

It’s about life. It’s about living forever, on a high the size of someone else’s soul. And I fucking want it.

Dru and Spike are kissing now, passionate like long-time lovers, which of course, they are, their mouths covered in blood.

How long might they have gone on drinking us down, using us as their free supply of narcotic-tainted blood without Begbie’s rabid temper? My dead mate. I fucking owed him one.

Now I was saved, I wanted to go on … and on … and on, like them. I could totally see it.

“I want it, Drusilla,” I tell her. Spike’s eyes glint behind her, waiting, watching. “I want it all.”

She looked at me then with pity. I didn’t think she was capable of that sort of emotion. I could see she was seeing me for the little man I was, the boy really, the junkie, the kind of person, immortal or mortal who would never have enough, never get enough, never be satiated; you’d think that would make me a great candidate for it, the perfect candidate, but I could see that she could see that I would always be weak, I would never do what was necessary to do, I’d make a terrible boyfriend, a terrible lover, a terrible sidekick, a terrible partner, father, breadwinner, protector, fighter, champion, in short, a terrible vampire.

I wasn’t the sort of guy who would step up, could step up, not for anything even if it meant I could live and love and fuck forever. I was like a stick of jerky to her, like a candy cane. Only as good as the salt or sugar in me.

Spike's already turning away, Dru’s tiny hand in his. I'm resigned to my fate. I even offer Dru my neck, my fucking polka-dot arms for her to take, take it all, and I’d follow Begbie’s body into the gutter. That was where I really and truly lived.

“Choose life,” Drusilla says with a girlish, hysterical laugh and then she was gone like the smoke from her fucking cigarette and I see she's right and there's a long and boring and seriously hard road ahead for me.

If I choose it.

Well.

Fuck _me._


End file.
